


A Question of Curiosity

by lobsterkaijin



Category: Bleach
Genre: Age Difference, Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Power Imbalance, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobsterkaijin/pseuds/lobsterkaijin
Summary: Power comes in different forms.
Relationships: Ulquiorra Cifer/Inoue Orihime
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	A Question of Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vapor_Junkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vapor_Junkie/gifts), [History_Buff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/History_Buff/gifts).



> Though this story takes place pre-timeskip, Orihime has been aged up to her post-timeskip age of seventeen.

The world at his fingertips. 

Power, control. 

Purpose. 

The world offered to him by Sōsuke Aizen — structured and hierarchical, strength ruling all. Before he graced the night desert, the wild sands were dominated by feral Hollow, monsters lacking higher functioning, ruled by their hunger, devoid of substance. What commonality could Ulquiorra find among them once he became aware of his own existence? Painful, knowing himself and nothing else. Then came the shinigami, one who carried solace within him, a graceful cold, a blanket of peace, peace in beholding his own light and piercing the black hole of Hueco Mundo. A candle behind a glass, touching others and filling them, not with hope, but with power.

With power comes ordinance. ‘Follow me,’ he says. A path so perfectly laid out that one could traverse it long after the moon has settled. One path, a straight line cutting through the despair. In following, one doesn’t realize just how much they’re giving up, but that’s how it happens, how he so easily takes control of the mind and the will.

The path committed, the corridor so narrow, focused on the singularity ahead and paying no mind to the pieces shaved off by the confines; it’s easy to ignore the walls closing in when the mind sees but one destiny and is loathe to emerge. Centuries trapped in that tree only to be blinded by the exposure, for it was not a candle but the sun, yet as it all burns away, one cannot help reaching out their arm. It will never touch, but this becomes his new purpose. What once was empty is now whole. Meaningful and sure.

Or so he thinks.

“Woman, again you refuse to eat.”

A single curiosity. Ulquiorra cannot reconcile Orihime’s existence. With the world at his fingertips, he should be able to do anything. Power and control far beyond her conception, such that she quivers when he comes near. A pawn has greater significance than her. A negligible purpose and a value less than that. Why does Aizen keep her then? The Cuarto Espada is missing something. He cannot claim to understand Aizen’s plans, not a one of them do, but he’s certain he’s missing something.

“I’m not hungry.”

When he’s near her, he thinks he understands. Her world is so small, so pitiful, yet as small as it is, her hands grasp it like it’s big, and unlike Aizen, Orihime’s fingers caress the world like they’re cradling God, lulling it with a silly human song then laying it to rest on a soft blanket. She’s never touched him like that, and he doesn’t want her to. Curiosity asks, _‘Why not?’_ Logic answers back, _‘Because it’s meaningless.’_

“You will be.”

She’s frail and weak, but she resists him. Always. After the first time she slapped him and realized she could do him no harm, she resigned to turning away from him, the prey instinct to run. Run where? To an inevitable dead end, no doubt. There are four walls and one exit. Fighting against all odds is such an ugly trait. Humans know nothing but to be ruled by their fear. Their struggle is futile. Pitiful how she’ll never gain control over her instincts, and even those are poorly developed. Running while looking back, it’s worse than pitiful. She will never see the exit. So long as her eyes are on him, she’ll run into him, because that is where her feet will take her. Curiosity asks, _‘Then, is she running away? Or running to you?’_ Reason answers, _'The distinction doesn’t matter. Only the end result.’_

“Please leave me alone.”

She doesn’t flinch when he grabs her by the chin and forces her to look at him. Brown eyes stare at him, betraying no fear. Searching, understanding. Iridescent. Her hands leave her chest. Ulquiorra follows their path until they come to rest on his own, over where his heart would be if he had one. Feeling for it? No, she’s well aware the cavity is empty. She could spend her energy on more productive endeavours, on being cooperative. Instead she struggles. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, and he can almost feel her pull. Wasted effort yet again.

Ulquiorra leans forward, and she reflexively leans with him, tickling his nose with her hair. A soft scent washes over him as she backs away. Though none grows in the desert of Hueco Mundo, he smells marigold, and his eyes fall.

“Eat, and I will leave.”

Orihime’s voice comes as a lament. “Then I will not eat.”

Her breath smells of mint. His eyes open. He cannot expect trash to learn its lesson, and grabs her by the throat, squeezing enough to make her uncomfortable. “Your obstinance is in vain.”

She’s silent at that, but she won’t let go. Stubbornness and pride for the sake of being difficult. What does she hope to accomplish with those shaking hands? Ulquiorra presses his thumb to her lips. The warning is clear — he’ll break her teeth if he has to. A warning is all he’s ever needed for her compliance.

Orihime’s lips part in a gasp. “W-Wait, Ulquiorra—”

The Espada pauses. This reaction is odd. A display of compliance but a different kind. The way she pleaded with him just now was neither fearful nor stubborn. Then what other reason does she have to plead with him? He searches her eyes for the answer, already knowing he will not find an answer he can comprehend. He’s not trying to. Curiosity asks, _'Why did you hesitate?’_ Indignance answers, _‘Not for her sake.’_

Under his fixed gaze, the realization dawns on her. Did she really just say that? And the way it sounded… She looks away, rose dusting her cheeks. “I-I, I’ll eat, but…” In a tiny voice, “Don’t leave.”

“Nonsense.” None but Aizen can order him. Ulquiorra removes his hand, taking note of the way her lips almost follow, before she remembers where she is and stops herself, flushing an even darker shade of red. It wouldn’t be worth a mental note, except for the very same heat that comes to mirror hers, burning a hole in his chest.

Orihime blinks, unsure. Her eyes must be deceiving her, because she’s never seen a look like that on his face, so she must be imagining it. Is he aware his cheeks are pink? Whiter than a ghost, even a tiny bit paints his whole face. The splash of colour is jarring and unnatural and the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. If she’s imagining it, she doesn’t want to stop. When she touches it, she’s surprised to feel warmth. Everywhere else is cold as ice, save for where her hands are placed, until his whole face has melted and a soft wonder replaces his unrelenting stare. What’s up with him today? That’s the most gentle he’s ever been with her, and he’s letting her touch him.

Wait, she’s _touching_ him! Orihime removes her hands, but he won’t let her, and tugs them back wordlessly. Holding her breath, she waits for a hit that doesn’t come. How much can she get away with? Orihime peers up at him to find he’s still wearing that uncharacteristic expression. 

“When was the last time you saw your own reflection in a mirror?”

Ulquiorra’s eyebrows might’ve knitted together if his face wasn’t made of marble. He doesn’t dignify her with a response.

Her lip tightens. “Do you know what I see?”

Curiosity asks, _‘Do you want to know?’_ Impatience answers, _‘Hurry up and say it.’_

Sunken eyes stare into an oblivion. Jade, a regal colour, the colour of life and balance, healing and purification. When worn by him, it’s tired and dull. The markings on his face are the same colour, trailing down his cheeks like tracks left by tears. How many nights did this weary soul cry before it wasted away? Did he die alone?

He can’t see his own face, so he’d say the emotions don’t exist, but Orihime can see them all. There’s something there in his eyes, a remnant of what his human self might’ve been. Maybe he wasn’t always so empty. If pieces of someone are always being torn off, eventually there’ll be nothing left, so he follows Aizen to try and find something to fill all the space, unaware that there isn’t even a shell to fill. Tears well up in her eyes.

It’s so cruel. The land of the Hollow is full of pain and sorrow. This is where her brother went. They’re all suffering. If they’re not slaves to their misery then they’re enslaved by a man who doesn’t have a shred of humanity.

“Won’t you let me show you your heart?”

“Don’t waste my time with useless questions.”

“All this time, you thought you didn’t have one. Now that I’m offering to show it to you, you avoid looking.” She presses herself against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He doesn’t take his eyes off her, but doesn’t reciprocate either. It’s strange how stiff and pliant he is at the same time. “You’re scared that I’ll prove you wrong.”

Sōsuke Aizen gave him power, control, purpose, showed him the kind of world a God would create. His definitions of those words are the only ones Ulquiorra knows. The only ones he cares to know. This woman seems to have her own definitions, however.

“Those human concepts are disposable. I have no need for them.”

Orihime sniffles. “They aren’t things that you need, they just _are._ ”

His hands stray to her waist. Curiosity muses, _‘You’re not pulling away.’_

Silence.

She squeezes her eyes shut, unable to prevent a few tears from escaping. “Things exist that we can’t explain. That doesn’t make them meaningless.”

He smells marigold again. Marigold, with its arrogant flourish that assaults the senses, and blinding orange masking a cruel grief, that ugly truths are made palatable by pretty lies. It’s all so empty and stupidly courageous. Just like her, it tries too hard to stay strong. It’s fitting that she should wear it. It brings the sun. A stray thought — if he could experience yearning for warmth, it’d be for warmth like this.

“Why are you crying?”

She laughs a joyless laugh. “I really want you to have a heart.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Because I want to be a part of it.”

Curiosity says, “Show it to me, then.”

She presses an apprehensive kiss to the side of his mouth. He turns his face to her, and the second kiss, more sure, touches his lips. Heat blossoms in his face, and he finds it pleasant, not like standing in Aizen’s shadow when he first stole Ulquiorra from his slumber, but like the first time Ulquiorra unfurled his wings and flew through the air, revelling in the moon’s radiance and his own freedom. Natural, because the empty sky is his dominion, the perfect place for one just as empty. It’s not a new sense of purpose, but an addendum to the old one. Hueco Mundo is a little less cold with her mouth on his.

She pulls him closer, and his arms tighten around her instinctually. Though he does not need to breathe, he opens his mouth to inhale more of her, giving her exactly what she needs, and he doesn’t get a chance to close it again when she’s capturing his lips with her open mouth, and he’s not just smelling mint, but tasting it, until it too, like the smell of her hair and the warmth of her body, takes the reigns and escapes with his senses. Resisting is an exercise in futility. Her movements possess their own form of power and sweep him away.

“Ulquiorra,” she sighs into his mouth, and he desperately swallows it. “Ulquiorra, don’t leave.”

Stupid girl, there is nothing she can say to command him. If only he could consume her, put an end to this. Strike her chest and bore a hole in her heart to mirror the one in his. He’s told her many times that her struggles are in vain. Then her fingers are in his hair, scratching away at his skull, at his denial, leaving the wounds raw. The curve of her lips catch at his thoughts and pulls them between her teeth, and she drags hard. The shift of her hips splits him down the middle. Her eyelashes tickle his cheek, and he sheds his cloak of ambivalence. Suddenly his inner shell is naked and visible. His empty self, a black void of nothing, at the center of which beats something he thought didn’t exist. It shivers under her scrutiny, until her heated gaze razes his body and that too is alight.

“Please,” comes her voice like perfume to shroud his senses.

It’s sorcery, or some sort of curse, foul play, for he can’t allow himself to believe in how easily she too controls him. Somehow she’s broken his resolve, compelling him to chase the taste of her, and he lets her lead him to sit beside her. On the couch she further bends him to her will, pushing him back against the pillows and climbing atop his lap. Hands act on their own to trail up her back, mirroring the path her hands take down his, and it starts to make sense why she touches him so desperately. One piece is not enough. He wants it all. The closer he holds her, the closer he wants to get.

She hikes up her hakama, wrapping her legs around Ulquiorra’s hips, and when he doesn’t understand what she wants, she grabs his hands to place them under the fabric. The skin under her clothing feels no different, but something about the way she reacts is. Warmer, softer, more willing. The skin of her arms and back have experienced hurt. The skin here is untouched and it shows. She gasps and leans into him, nails digging into his back.

His hands are ice on her skin, but she doesn’t mind, she wants to be touched and taken, body and soul. At that moment, she is content. It’d be okay if he consumed her. It’d be okay if, as he pressed his nose to the crook of her shoulder, he became hungry, lost control, and ripped out her throat. She just wants him to want her. But he doesn’t and he never will. He’s doing this out of curiosity, and she’s doing it because… well, she doesn’t really know why. Her heart is already taken by another. She hasn’t proven anything to him about his heart, but with her eyes closed so tight, she can’t see the way he watches her come undone.

“You’re crying again.”

Her eyes open. “O-Oh, what?”

He smears the tears. “Are you in pain?”

Orihime shakes her head. It’s not physically painful. The pain is in her heart.

He holds her for what could be centuries. In reality, it’s not more than a few minutes. When the moment fades from them, Orihime leans back, meeting his colourless gaze, and shrinks away. This is the closest he will ever get to her, she realizes. This isn’t out of love. She was only able to melt him a little.

“I’m sorry. You can go if you really want to.”

His response comes slow, measured. Even. Like it doesn’t pain him at all. She knows it doesn’t, she knows it never will. “Are you going to cooperate and eat the food Lord Aizen had prepared for you?”

Chest tight, she gets off him and pats her uniform flat. There, now it never happened. “I will, don’t worry.”

He rises. “Make a habit of it.”

“I will.”

“Rest well, Orihime.”

“I will. Wait—” He’s gone.

He said her name.

Orihime’s face falls in her hands.

The hallway is quiet. Ulquiorra retreats to his quarters. The smell of marigold clings to his hair, his clothes, his fingers, stalks him down the halls until he shuts the door, severing the flowers by the roots, abandoning the problem behind him. He approaches the window and sees the desert moon adorned with clouds. Somewhere out there, he’d decided he didn't need frivolous distractions. Somewhere in Las Noches, a distraction found him.

Foolish, a waste of time. Trash. What did she think she was going to show him? As inferred, the heart is nonexistent, an invention of humans who cannot accept their reality. He cannot be shown something he doesn’t have. 

He will not return to her room again.

Curiosity asks, _‘Are you in pain?’_

Ulquiorra answers, “No.”


End file.
